


i wanna shout it from the rooftops

by arktemisia, whythebananas



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 05:54:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15624036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arktemisia/pseuds/arktemisia, https://archiveofourown.org/users/whythebananas/pseuds/whythebananas
Summary: “Alex blows a kiss, and Tobin suddenly wants to be there in person, to hold Alex, to feel her curved smile against Tobin’s lips, to feel the matching rumble of laughter in their chests.”(AKA the Band AU that no one asked for.)





	i wanna shout it from the rooftops

**Author's Note:**

  * For [red_thread](https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_thread/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, @red_thread! Technically, this story is completely on time and not at all a year late.
> 
> Thank you so much to Audrey, @whythebananas's sister, and of course the birthday girl herself (because we are still those kind of people who make someone work for it) for all your feedback and help.
> 
> Enjoy~

_I don’t wanna live love this way_  
_I don’t wanna hide us away_  
_I wonder if it ever will change_ _  
I’m living for that day, someday_

 

* * *

 

The grass, low and even, skims underfoot Alex’s tightly laced cleats. The fresh scent fills her lungs as she inhales deeply and surveys the field, empty save for the two goals on either end. A steady drumline rhythm in her ears matches the beat in her chest. But even the Beyoncé anthem can’t drown out the rising nerves—

Alex’s eyes snap open, and the visual of the vacant pitch is dispelled; the smells of sweat and dirt bring her fully back into reality and the locker room. Curled up inside her own locker, Alex adjusts the noise cancelling headphones so they fit more snugly over her ears. But she’s broken concentration and can’t get back in that zone now.

Cap and Crystal are sitting on the small stools in front of the row of lockers, in the middle of what looks to be a serious conversation. To their right, Syd dances around, earphone cord swinging as she spins. Alex extracts herself and moves onto her own stool to stretch her limbs. Checking the overhead clock, she confirms that there’s still five minutes left until halftime is over. Any time now, Jill will be back to give one last pep talk before sending them back to the pitch.

A hand on her shoulder startles Alex, prompting her to look up at the person in question. JJ beams, broad and manic, waving her phone about excitedly.

“What’s up?” Alex asks as she removes her headphones.

“The bassist of Flannel Gaze just posted this!” JJ shoves her phone into Alex’s face.

“Who?”

Unable to contain her delight, the screen jostles as JJ fidgets, making it difficult for Alex to discern what exactly she’s looking at. Alex plucks the phone from JJ’s outstretched hand and looks at the Instagram post onscreen. In it a woman with a huge, infectious smile has her arm slung around the neck of a younger preteen girl wearing a gradient blue jersey, the number 13 across her chest.

> **musicjunky88** _Cheering on the #USWNT with my absolute favorite cousin who may or may not have posted this because I am useless at social media. Great goal @alexmorgan13!!! #USAvAUS #yourewelcomeflannelgazefans #flannelgazemorelikeflannelgays_

“ _Tobin Heath_ ,” JJ says, as if it’s common knowledge.

“Never heard,” Alex says as JJ’s face falls almost comically. Unsure of what JJ was looking for, Alex continues, offering a, “Cool that she’s a fan.”

“Never heard,” JJ mimics with a scoff. “What kind of gay are you?”

“The kind that’s _not_ ,” Alex says lowly, eyes shifting around the noisy locker room. One bench over, HAO laughs boisterously as Kling gestures wildly in the middle of a story. A few feet from them, Christen concentrates on retying her ponytail.

“Gay, bisexual, whatever,” JJ persists. “You’ve _never_ heard of Flannel Gaze?”

Alex manages a tense smile before glancing about once more. Sydney passes by, head bobbing to the beat of her music, and sends a playful wink their way.  This relaxes Alex a bit, and she turns back to JJ with an eyebrow raised. “You expect me to know every gay in flannel?”

“Yes,” JJ says emphatically.

Alex snorts.

JJ snatches her phone back and jabs her pointer finger at the screen. “You _have_ to respond. This is a unique chance for me to be friends with someone who has an in with the band.”

“After the game, maybe,” Alex says, almost dismissively. “Probably not though.”

“Al- _ex_. We can start our own crew to rival T-Swift’s!”

“Why don’t _you_ respond then? You’re the one with a crush.”

“Only like, mostly. And _you’re_ the one the kid mentioned in the post! She was wearing your jersey!”

“Jill’s beckoning us over,” Alex says with a bemused shake of her head. “We’ve got a game to win still, remember?”

JJ trails after Alex as they walk over to the team huddle, still pleading and wheedling the entire way.

 

* * *

 

Quite a distance away from the field, Tobin and Sarah Heath sit in the stands, blending into the sea of red, white, and blue apparel and face paint seamlessly, one in gradient blue, the other in a red plaid shirt over a white v-neck tee. Tobin, on the left, brings a hand to shield the sun from her eyes. Atop her head sits a Nets snapback, stubbornly worn backwards, depriving the visor of its actual function.

“So…that player who scored the goal earlier,” Tobin says, angling her face towards her cousin to be heard amidst the stadium music and conversations around them, “she’s your favorite, right?”

“Yeah!” Comes the enthusiastic reply from her cousin Sarah, face shiny with reapplied sunscreen as she bounces up and down slightly in her seat. “That’s Alex Morgan. She scored the game winning goal against Canada in the 2012 Olympics.”

“So she’s been your fave since you were five, is what you’re saying,” Tobin teases, nudging Sarah with her elbow.

“I was eight,” Sarah says, protesting shrilly.

“Uh huh.”

“There she is,” Sarah exclaims and points down at the field where a lone white uniformed player streaks past numerous blue Australian jerseys.

From their seats, Tobin can just barely make out the gist of the game but not the details of the player’s appearances. She turns her attention to the nearest jumbotron, the camera following after the action, angle showing the back of the white jersey: _Morgan 13_.

One of the U.S. midfielders lobs a long pass over to number 13 who doesn’t even wait for the ball to hit the turf and, instead, uses the volley to take a shot at goal. The Australian goalkeeper dives, arms outstretched, but the ball brushes past her gloved fingertips into the lower left-hand corner of the net. Instantly the assistant referee’s whistle screeches, and the U.S. celebration is cut off, turning into collective groaning all around Tobin.

“Wait,” Tobin says, “why didn’t that goal count?”

“Offside,” Sarah says. “Keep up.”

“What’s offside again?”

“Basically,” Sarah says, as if she’s explaining a difficult concept to a kindergartener, “Alex was a little _too_ eager.”

On the jumbotron, Tobin sees Alex Morgan clenching her jaw in clear disappointment, sweat streaking down the sides of her face. She lifts the hem of her jersey to wipe at her jaw and mouth, revealing her lower torso. The muscles of her flat stomach shift with her movement in a way Tobin finds immediately distracting.

“So uh,” Tobin starts, trying to keep an air of nonchalance, “why don’t people bring binoculars to these things? You know, like the opera.”

“That’s what the big screen is for. Duh.”

“Yeah, but then you could…” She trails off as she realizes who she’s talking to and clears her throat awkwardly. “Nevermind.”

Too late. “Gross,” Sarah says, wrinkling her nose.

“Shut up,” Tobin mumbles. “You’re thirteen. You weren’t supposed to understand that.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you shouldn’t have let Kelley babysit me.”

 

* * *

 

Alex curls up under the covers with a snoring Syd in the bed next to hers, still riding the high from scoring her first brace in a long few years plagued with multiple—but fortunately minor—injuries, and she finds herself unable to sleep. She scrolls through her Facebook feed, but it only keeps her engaged for a short while before an unsettling boredom takes hold. She opens and closes five different apps in the next few minutes, unable to concentrate on any of her usual distractions. With nothing else in mind, Alex allows a dull curiosity to take over.

She pulls up the Chrome browser and purses her lips, trying and mostly failing to recall bits of the earlier conversation. The words that stick out in her memory are _flannel_ and _gays_ , so that’s what she types—subsequently wrinkling her nose at the top results that populate her screen.

_To Flannel or Not to Flannel?_

_Why do lesbians love flannel?_

_The secrets to the ‘gay agenda’_

Her eyes shift towards the timestamp on top of the screen, and—no. Even if it weren’t already 12:24am on a night that her teammate had logged in a full ninety minutes on the field, Alex is much too proud, much too stubborn, to give JJ the satisfaction.

She tries again, adding _band_ to the end of the previous search.

_Not Just Flannel Gays—Flannel Gaze Accepts HRC Visibility Award, Discusses Giving Voice to LGBT Youth_

_Indie-Pop Band Flannel Gaze Members Pose in Flannel for OUT Magazine_

_Flannel Gaze drummer Megan Rapinoe comes out with partner of 3 years_

Alex thinks the word _flannel_ is starting to look like a fake word. The slight pinch forming between her eyes tells her that’s enough for the night. Even if all she’s really learned is how to spell the band’s stupid name.

The screen turns black with a simple click of a button, and with the phone returned back to its previous place on the nightstand, Alex rolls over to face the wall, ready to let the exhaustion from the day’s events take over.

 

///

 

3:12am.

Almost halfway between her sought-after-yet-elusive sleep and breakfast time, Alex is well into the third band member’s Instagram page—two, no, three years deep, according to the May 29, 2014 stamp below the post. In a loose band tee, ripped skinny black jeans, and a floral snapback, Tobin Heath laughs at something to the left of the camera, half her face smudged in cake frosting. An arm is slung loosely around her shoulder, the body of its owner cropped out of frame but tagged _@ashlynharrisfg_.

> **onehellofako** _Happy Birthday Toby Tobs! Just for today I’ll pretend that bass is a real instrument. ;)_

So Alex might seem a tad obsessive, but it’s totally not her fault that one _@musicjunky88_ , or rather, _tobin powell heath / ephesians 2:8-9 #allaboutthatbass_ has a grand total of… seventeen posts. Sixteen of them are pictures of the beach or the faceless audience taken from the vantage point of the performer onstage, and the last a poorly taken selfie with just the snapback and the top half of a forehead making it into the foreground. Save for the punny profile photo—bright eyes and wide grin sharing a frame with a presumably self-caught sea bass, looking all too reminiscent of a typical dudebro’s Tinder page—the photo posted earlier had been the only one with her actual face on it. And it had been posted by someone else. What a waste of 52.6k followers.

It’s a sweet picture, Alex supposes. The identical smiles on her screen are just as infectious as when JJ had all but forced Alex to look.

Cute kid.

(Cute adult too. Whatever.)

It had been entirely too easy to simply keep clicking once she’d reached the bottom of the page, eventually getting to _@pinoecolada_ ( _the better looking twin / formerly @PinoeGrigio_ ) and _@onehellofako_ ( _not a boxer, still a knockout_ ) by way of _@flannelgayestfan_ and _@iluvtobinh_. It’s like getting lost on YouTube or Wikipedia during a long bus ride, except all she’s learned so far… is that the bassist of Flannel Gaze has a really nice smile…

...is Christian, loves to surf, owns way too many snapbacks, broke her big toe from a stage dive gone wrong that somehow didn’t involve her doing the diving…

And at— _Jesus Christ_ —four in the morning, it seems like a good idea to type out a reply.

(Just to be polite, you know.)

 

* * *

 

Eight o’clock finds a bleary-eyed Tobin sitting in the hotel cafe, munching on a handful of dry Froot Loops straight out of the box. Next to her, an equally exhausted Sarah mirrors her position, one foot tucked under her knee as she chews on her Apple Jacks, both cousins occasionally swapping cereals wordlessly in a practiced routine.

“Morning, Casanova,” comes a singsong voice before the body of a much-too-chipper Kelley plops down on the seat across the table. “Morning, Mini Heath.”

“Fuck off.”

“I hate you.”

“Language,” Kelley fake-admonishes. “There are impressionable minds at the table.”

“The kid’s probably heard worse at school,” Tobin grumbles, and the younger Heath mumbles a confirmation.

“I was talking about me,” Kelley says, ignoring the synchronized scoffs in favor of spooning a healthy amount of Chobani yogurt into her mouth.

“You’re the devil.”

“That’s pure slander,” Kelly says, unfazed.

“Excuse you, you set Tobin’s phone to blare Ludacris every hour from four in the morning!” Sarah hisses. Unbidden, _Move bitch get out the way, get out the way_ sounds in Tobin’s head, the beginnings of an annoying earworm she knows she’ll have to deal with the rest of her day. “ _And_ ,” Sarah continues her tirade, “you changed her passcode so she couldn’t turn off the other alarms. And _doofus_ right here didn’t know to turn off her phone until I did it for her after the third time!”

“Hey,” Tobin protests, electing to return to the conversation now that she’s the one being insulted.

Kelley’s face falls. “Aww, man, you haven’t been on your phone all morning?”

“Um, no.”

“Who turns off their phone these days?”

“People who need sleep!”

“Okay, well turn it back on.”

“I left it in my room—” Kelley makes an impatient sound, tossing the now-empty yogurt cup and plastic spoon on the table. “—What, did I miss anything important?”

“ _Yes._ ”

“...Are you gonna tell me what it is?”

“Ugh,” Kelley says, rolling her eyes. “Check your Insta.” She pushes her chair back and stands up.

Tobin stares at her retreating friend warily, debating on the urgency of the suggestion (demand). With her luck, it’s probably just a cat video or a funny post on 9gag—

“Oh my god.” Before Tobin can even utter a _what_ , a bejewelled phone is being shoved in her face by an eager teenager. “Here, I’ve already signed out, you can sign in and reply, and please don’t say something totally uncool or I’m disowning you forever…”

 

///

 

> **alexmorgan13** _Thanks! Always good to see a cute fan (or two)._
> 
> **julieertz** _@musicjunky88 @alexmorgan13 she also loves Flannel Gaze fyi!!!_
> 
> **gayforflannelgaze** _@amorgzfan OMG!!! Your faves are going to meet!!!_
> 
> **amorgzfan** _@gayforflannelgaze :O :O :O pls tell me she’s going to be at the LA show I would dieeeee_
> 
> **musicjunky88** _@alexmorgan13 Well I’m sure I could swing a couple of tickets. DM me. :-)_

 

* * *

 

> **musicjunky88** started following you.

 

* * *

 

> **alexmorgan13** started following you.

 

///

 

Later in the evening, Tobin reclines on the hotel couch, engrossed in SimCity BuildIt on her phone. “Tobin!” Sarah shrieks, a little too close to Tobin’s left ear, elbows shifting over the back of the couch to be able to peer over her cousin’s shoulder more easily. Startled, Tobin instinctively thumbs the power button, and the screen turns black with a click. “I can’t believe _Alex Morgan_ might show up for your dumb band,” Sarah plows on, undeterred by the responding eyeroll. If a person’s eyes could glitter with stars, hers would be doing that right now. “If she says yes, can I come?”

“Um…” Tobin flounders. “I don’t know, kid. It’ll probably be way past your bedtime. Your mom would kill me if she finds out.”

“ _If_ she finds out.”

“Yeah…no. The deal was that you got to come along for the west coast part of the tour if you stuck to your ten o’clock curfew _and_ finished at least three books on your summer reading list—which, last I checked, you haven’t even started on.”

“Ugh, I liked you better when you didn’t sound like such a _grown-up_. Since when are you actually responsible?”

Tobin snorts. “It’s more like self-preservation. Aunt Carol will probably know if we’re even thinking of going behind her back. I’m not trying to get grounded while on tour.”

“It could be worth it,” Sarah argues, sticking out her bottom lip. “And I haven’t gotten to hang out with you in _so_ long…”

“Ugh, don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me either,” Tobin says. “I taught you that.”

“Is it working?”

Tobin scoffs. “Not even a little bit.”

“ _Ugh,_ this is so wasted on you. You didn’t even know who she was until I told you.”

“Yeah, well,” Tobin says, shrugging. “Thanks, kiddo. I’ll let her know about that off-the-side call you talked about.”

“Yes, please say it _exactly_ like that.”

“O...kay.” Tobin’s eyes narrow suspiciously.

“And you have to promise to tell me all about it!”

“I’ll do you one better. _If_ she show up _and_ sticks around after the show—and that’s a big if—I’ll ask her to record a shout out for you on my phone. But you have to have book number one done by then. Which is…” Tobin pauses, squinting in thought, “four days from now. Deal?”

Sarah heaves a dramatic sigh. “Fine. Deal.”

“Cool. Bedtime.”

“What? No!” The bottom lip makes its appearance again, and this time Tobin relents. Aunt Carol won’t know if she stays up an extra hour. Hopefully.

 

* * *

 

 **Julie Jertz**  
Today 8:11AM

Did you get them did you get them did you  
get them???????  
D I D   Y O U ?

 

///

 

 **Julie Jertz**  
Missed Call (3)

 

///

 

 **HAO Hey-o**  
Today 9:05AM

You gotta answer jj before she explodes

I don’t know, I’m having fun

I’m all for that  
But also she won’t leave me alone  
So do it for me?

For you <3  
_Delivered_

 

///

 

 **Julie Jertz**  
Today 9:09AM

Yeah

OH MY GODDDDD  
How many tickets????

Enough for a +1

PLUS ONE?????????????  
:D Have I told you lately~~~that I love you~~~

Not really

Alex :(

I suppose…  
You can come :)  
_Delivered_

 

///

 

 **HAO Hey-o**  
Today 9:12AM

She’s screaming  
A lot  
Come over  
We’re swapping rooms

 

///

 

“It’s just a stupid concert,” Alex says for what feels like the tenth time tonight. JJ mills around Alex’s parents’ living room, picking up and replacing (misplacing) various knick knacks. Ignoring her friend’s invasive habit, Alex walks to her old room after putting the kettle on.

“Then why have you tried on twenty different outfits like you’re about to go on a date?” Even from two rooms away, the smugness in JJ’s attitude is evident.

At that, Alex looks at her current attire in the mirror that hangs off the back of the bedroom door. The white sleeveless blouse in combination with regular black leggings look is… not the worst, but maybe it’s too blasé, too suburban single woman in a book club for this event. As she changes her top again, Alex says, “Because we are public figures and probably will be photographed and judged.”

“It’s just a concert, remember?” JJ says, “I think we can afford to be seen chilling.”

“So now it’s _just_ a concert, but before it was a ‘travesty’ that I hadn’t been to one of their shows.”

One track mind and all, JJ breezes past that comment. “If it’s not a date why are you making tea? Everyone knows it’s your calm-the-nerves drink when we’re not playing.”

“Because everyone else there will be trashed. And since we can’t drink, I thought tea might be the next best thing.” Alex settles on a low key look—a pair of black jeans and a light blue button-up shirt. It’s a bland outfit that’ll allow her to easily blend in but won’t look like she’s not trying at all. At least, she hopes that’s the image she’s projecting.

“That is… kind of reasonable,” JJ admits reluctantly. “Okay, well if it’s not a date then—”

“It really, really isn’t a date,” Alex says, stepping back into the living room. JJ opens her mouth, but Alex is ready with her rebuttals. “First, that bassist and I are practically strangers. Second, concerts are only dates when you’re both in the audience. Third, you don’t typically invite a friend along on a date, much less on a first one.”

Addressing only the third in that list, JJ offers, “I could stay home then.”

Reflexively, Alex is midway into tying her hair into a ponytail before remembering she doesn’t have a practice or game obligation tonight. She shakes her hair loose and laughs. “Please, I’d never hear the end of it if your free ticket and backstage pass went to waste.”

“You’re right,” JJ says, folding her arms. “Guess I’m third-wheeling tonight.”

Alex rolls her eyes fondly.

 

* * *

 

The show goes very smoothly, with all of Ashlyn’s scripted jokes landing exactly right and Pinoe’s drum solos more than living up to their hype. By the time Flannel Gaze has made it through their entire setlist, sweat is soaking through the back of Tobin’s **_L_** _et’s_ **_G_** _et_ **_B_** _usy_ **_T_** _our_ shirt and her limbs are feeling somewhat numb from the constant amp reverberations.

“...and once again, thank you so much for coming out and _getting busy_ with us! Good night, LA!”

And with that final thank you, Ashlyn walks off the stage. Tobin lingers behind, looking out at the huddled, cheering crowd one last time. She feels the usual exhilaration from performing ebb away into a peaceful awe as her ears finally make out the _L-G-B-T_ chant. Seeing all these people, sharing this experience with them, it’s almost holy, and Tobin will never tire of it. With another wave towards the crowd, she makes her exit.

Backstage, Kelley goes on and on about how awesome they all were (especially herself). Tobin’s only half-listening, still reliving some of her favorite moments of the night.

“Take ten to get changed and meet me in the green room,” Lauren says, appearing seemingly out of nowhere to Tobin’s left, clipboard in one hand, walkie in the other. As Flannel Gaze’s manager, she has quite the task ahead of her, keeping the band on schedule. “I issued a dozen or so backstage passes, so you’ll be meeting up with some fans.”

From past experience, Tobin knows what to expect and continues down the hallway to their dressing room so she can hydrate and change, maybe even grab a quick bite to eat. Foraging through her messenger bag, she retrieves her reused Voss water bottle and a KIND bar.

Mid-bite, Tobin remembers—oh, right. She nearly forgot that she’d invited Sarah’s favorite super famous soccer player. No big deal. There’s always the chance she didn’t come anyway. Still, she whips her phone out as soon as she changes out of her sweaty shirt and into a similar but—she did the sniff test just to be sure—cleaner one. A couple of touches and she’s on Instagram, pulling up a now-familiar profile, and… no new post.

It’s not exactly a definite answer, but, well. She’s not sure if she’s more relieved or disappointed. She blames Sarah’s overzealousness and Kelley’s teasing—and Ashlyn and Pinoe’s, once Kelley and Sarah filled them in—for making this a bigger deal than it should be. It’s just a pretty girl. Tobin’s met her fair share of those even before Flannel Gaze made it from Nana Harris’s basement to the production studio.

(Still, Tobin feels almost weirdly let down.)

She’s about to put her phone away when she receives a notification.

> **julieertz** _mentioned you in a comment._

Curious, she clicks into it and finds herself greeted by a pair of smiling faces in a selfie taken outside the venue, angled so the marquee sign is seen clearly in the background above them in big block letters: _FLANNEL GAZE AUG 09_.

> **julieertz** _In line to meet @flannelgazeofficial!!! Fangirling so hard right now. What an amazing show. Thanks for the tickets @musicjunky88. @alexmorgan13 may or may not have a jersey for you in return. ;) #LGBTour_
> 
> **uswntfan02** _Please come to the Chicago show too! What’s your favorite song on the Let’s Get Busy album? <3 _
> 
> **iluvtobinh** _Omg_ _I love you all please meet and post a pic together_

Tobin’s stomach does this thing— _totally uncool_ comes to mind in a voice that sounds suspiciously like a certain thirteen year old’s. She might be in trouble.

 

///

 

After the ten minute break, Tobin is predictably the last one to arrive at the green room for the private meet-and-greet. Pinoe, Ashlyn, and Kelley are already all at it, shaking hands and kissing metaphorical babies. Rushing in and hoping that Lauren hasn’t noticed her tardiness, Tobin enthusiastically thanks everyone for coming to watch the show. As Tobin nears the last of the fans, a woman with long blonde hair, silvery eyeshadow, and a mischievous smile pushes her friend toward Tobin by the waist.

The woman thrusted forward has light brown hair parted from the left and bright gray eyes that flicker to Tobin’s immediately. She quirks her mouth upwards in an almost shy manner, and Tobin finds herself drawn in, attention fully settled on her without knowing why.

“Hi.”

“Alex Morgan, right?” Tobin says, recognizing her after a beat, and extends a hand.

(And it’s not like Tobin’s starstruck or anything; it’s just always a little surreal to meet someone famous, to know random facts and anecdotes about someone before you meet them. Facts like apparently being kind of important in women’s sports and one of the faces for equal pay; anecdotes like the one behind her pink pre-wrap and other gameday superstitions. Stuff like how she’s really pretty in the way that is just a fact and not at all about subjectivity…)

“That’s me,” Alex says, looking out of her element—not quite nervous but not quite confident—until she offers a smile, surprising in how it disarms Tobin. Out of the corner of her eye, Tobin sees Alex’s friend gesturing conspicuously. “And my teammate-slash-friend, Julie.”

“Nice to meet you, Julie,” Tobin says, mostly succeeding in looking away and shaking Julie’s hand next. “I’m Tobin, I play—”

“Bass guitar and about everything else, I know,” Julie says. “Big fan. _Huge_ fan.”

Tobin is taken aback despite having had similar receptions for several years now. Yeah, Ashlyn gets the most individual attention as the lead singer, but Tobin does okay for herself.

“Thanks, I really appreciate that.” Tobin turns back to Alex. “So, not to sound opportunistic or anything, but I think I heard something about getting a jersey?”

Alex laughs lightly and digs into her purse to retrieve a rolled up shirt. She hands it over to Tobin who shakes it out to see how it looks.

“Unlucky thirteen, huh?” Tobin jokes. “Think I’d be lucky enough to swing a personal autograph from the player?”

“Actually,” Julie says, cutting in, “Alex has something even better than that for you.” Alex shoots a confused glance at her friend. Julie smiles, sweet and innocent, and says, “Her number.”

Clear embarrassment colors Alex’s face as she pinches Julie’s side. Tobin smirks a little, amused with the display and pleased that she’ll have something to gloat about to Sarah. It’s not everyday a world-class athlete tries to set you up with their teammate, who also happens to be kind of famous and, more importantly, stupidly attractive.

“That… is too generous of a present for some tickets I just had lying around,” Tobin says. “So I think it’s only fair if I take you out to dinner first.”

Alex raises an eyebrow and slants a small smile that makes Tobin kind of nervous despite her initially half-joking manner. Before Alex finds an answer, she looks away, and Tobin follows her line of sight toward the other band members in deep discussion with the ten or so other fans.

“Are you free tonight?” Julie asks brightly, clearly impatient with how diverted her friend is. “Alex is. Totally free. Wide open schedule.”

“JJ,” Alex says, voice low and brows furrowed. “You’re dead to me.”

“There’s probably an afterparty somewhere,” Tobin says with a nonchalant shrug, “but I’m open to a better offer.”

Alex meets Tobin this time with her pointer finger raised and turns to Julie. “Why don’t you go talk to the other band members?”

“But—”

The two exchange a quick glance that means nothing to Tobin but gets Julie moving on with a slight pout. With that distraction taken care of, Alex returns her attention to Tobin.

“Ignore her, she got married recently so she’s trying to live the single life vicariously through me,” Alex says.

“So you _are_ single,” Tobin says.

Alex laughs quietly, under her breath, and Tobin’s insides twist. Alex wrings her hands a bit and says, “Yeah, I am. And you’re flirting with me.”

“What gave it away?” Tobin leans in, still leaving a respectable amount of space between them.

“Look, I’m flattered.”

“But?”

“But I already ate dinner today,” Alex says evenly.

“We could go out for drinks instead,” Tobin suggests.

“I have practice tomorrow,” Alex says, glancing behind herself quickly. “So I can’t.”

Alex’s behavior is skittish, shoulders tense and not quite keeping eye contact. Clearly, Tobin’s misread the situation and made her uncomfortable. Tobin nods, faint disappointment settling in the center of her chest, and says, “No worries, I can take a hint. Sorry that I pushed.”

A realization passes through Alex’s expression, and she lightens to something more sincere. Softly, she says, “I’m not saying no. More like asking for a raincheck.”

Tobin observes Alex’s demeanor carefully. “It’s okay if you want to just blow me off, you know?”

“I promise it’s not like that,” Alex says gently.

“How about this,” Tobin says, measured but more lighthearted. “I’ll give you back your jersey for now. When we do get dinner, you can give it back to me then.”

“What makes you think that I desperately want you to have my jersey?” Alex bites her lip and raises an eyebrow, meeting Tobin’s gaze. Tobin notes that her posture is a lot more relaxed now.

“So the next time I go to one of your games, you’ll have an extra certified fan out there,” Tobin says, almost smug. Then she tilts her head towards Julie, currently deep in conversation with Pinoe, and continues, “And I’m guessing it’ll keep your friend off your back.”

“Sure,” Alex says with a quick smile and an eye roll. “It’s a deal.”

“Do I still get your number?”

“Well, that can be my collateral,” Alex says, a playful glint in her eyes. “To make sure you show, too.”

The reciprocated banter provokes a genuine grin from Tobin as she says, “Fair enough.”

 

* * *

 

Soon after Alex agrees to tentative future dinner plans with Tobin Heath, she makes some cursory excuses about not wanting to take up all of Tobin’s time and attention (‘I don’t mind,’ is Tobin’s response, accompanied by a crooked smile that Alex absolutely does not find charming). Alex spends the remainder of the meet and greet mostly separated from JJ as she makes small talk with the other band members.

Ashlyn Harris, lead singer, shakes Alex’s hand firmly, smiling in a practiced manner. Ashlyn’s long blonde hair hangs almost messily, topped by a backwards snapback, black band tee, and camo drop crotch joggers. Though it’s maybe not saying much, Ashlyn is definitely the most serious of the band, but her candid demeanor makes Alex like her right away.

Megan Rapinoe—affectionately nicknamed Pinoe, apparently—drummer, holds her fist out for a bump which Alex only belatedly catches onto after a couple seconds delay. The band shirt on Pinoe is white with _FG_ in large lettering, hem stopping just short of the top of her distressed black jeans. Running a hand through bleached short hair and chattering non-stop, Pinoe gives Alex the impression that she’s energetic and a bit playful.

Kelley O’Hara, lead guitarist and backup vocalist, has the biggest social media presence, and so Alex, having spent the most time on her Instagram the other night, recognizes her without introduction. She’s wearing a loose dark grey TWLOHA tank— _WE WILL BE THE HOPEFUL_ emblazoned across the front in white—over a pair of black leggings.

As Alex nears her, she notices the maroon slouch beanie threatening to fall off as Kelley tosses her head back in laughter at the sight of two young fans donning matching _KO’d by KO_ shirts. Alex waits patiently for the fans to get their pictures taken with Kelley, smile tugging at her lips at the ridiculous poses that Kelley indulges them in. Then, after a quick group hug, the two girls practically skip away, excitedly chattering and comparing pictures on their phones.

“Didn’t think you were here to actually see the rest of us,” Kelley says by way of greeting, shifting her attention to Alex. Her cheek twitches, as if trying to suppress a smile.

Alex frowns, unsure if she’s already missed an inside joke within their two seconds of meeting. “Meet and greet is for the entire band, isn’t it?”

“Well, I’m sure the _band_ is excited that you could make it.” There’s a gleam in Kelley’s eyes that makes Alex wonder if Tobin has discussed with her band members the way Alex had with JJ. “Alex Morgan, right,” Kelley states rather than asks, as if to confirm Alex’s suspicions. “Soccer player.”

“Yeah,” Alex says, feeling slightly self-conscious. “And you’re the guitarist.”

“I also play a mean cello.”

“Cool.” Some anecdote about having played clarinet in middle school dies in Alex’s throat as Kelley tilts her head and sizes Alex up.

“Thank you everyone for coming tonight,” the band manager says. “Unfortunately our time has come to an end, please wrap things up and follow me.”

“Well, it was nice meeting you,” Alex says with a polite smile, attempting to mask her relief. “Great show.”

“You too, Morgan,” Kelley says, fluttering her fingers in the semblance of a goodbye wave. Then with a shit eating grin, she continues, “See you around.”

Before Alex can properly react, much less protest, Lauren herds the group of fans to the exit. Resigned, Alex shakes her head and meets back up with JJ, who proudly shows off an autographed tee.

“Have a good time?” JJ asks, waggling her eyebrows.

Shaking off the slight weirdness of her conversation with Kelley, Alex thinks back to the band’s unwavering patience and genuine warmth towards every fan despite the obvious fatigue from having just played a show. That’s something Alex can relate to in her own line of work. And though she hadn’t anticipated it, she actually thoroughly enjoyed the concert, both for the showmanship and the music.

“Yeah,” she finds herself responding, a little surprised that she actually means it.

As they wait for their Lyft to arrive, Julie briefly separates from Alex to call her husband and update him on her status.

“Hi,” a voice to Alex’s left catches her attention. The girl, probably in her late teens, has an undercut and septum piercing to go with her red flannel button up. “Sorry to bother, but can I get a picture with you?”

“Oh,” Alex says, blinking back surprise. “I’m not in the band.”

“But you’re Alex Morgan.”

“Oh! Yeah, I am,” Alex says with (what she hopes comes off as) a self-deprecating chuckle. “Of course, to the picture.”

Alex steps in closer toward the girl, shoulder bumping hers, and poses as the girl holds up her phone. The flash temporarily blinds Alex, and she blinks rapidly, spots of black swimming across her vision for a few seconds.

“Thank you so much,” the girl gushes. “So cool to see you here.”

“Just here with my friend,” Alex says, strangely urged to downplay her presence here. A feeling of self-consciousness presses at her urgently.

“Still,” the girl insists, then pauses shyly. “It’s just… it’s always nice to have another ally, you know? Especially one so many girls look up to.”

It should make Alex feel better, like she’s done something good somehow. Instead she feels a familiar mix of apprehension and dread curl in the pit of her stomach.

Years of training from social functions and the USWNT public relations department kick in, and Alex pushes down her emotions. With her publicity face on, she says, “I’m really lucky to have such great fans from all walks of life. I can only hope to support all of them as much as you guys support me.”

“Lyft’s a minute away!” JJ interrupts, reappearing at her side.

“Oh! You’re JJ!”

“I am,” JJ confirms brightly, unaware of the conversation she’d inadvertently walked in on. “I love your hair.”

“Thanks!” The girl smiles widely, glancing between the two players as if Christmas came early. She opens her mouth, possibly to request a picture, but a car horn sounds from the distance and the three of them turn in its direction, spotting a silver sedan parked half a block away. “Sorry,” the girl says, turning to face them with a sheepish grin, “that’s my ride, and my sister and I are already out past curfew. But it was _so_ good to meet you both. I can’t wait to tell all my friends about it!”

The conversation is making Alex uneasy for a reason she can’t yet articulate, and in this moment all she wants is to be home.

When JJ realizes that Alex isn’t saying anything, she jumps in. “It was nice meeting you too…”

“Jo.”

JJ beams. “It was nice meeting you, Jo. Get home safe!”

Alex just manages a weary smile as Jo is driven off.

Later, in their Lyft, JJ turns to Alex and asks, “You okay, Alex?”

“Yeah, it’s just been a long day. Tired,” Alex says, rubbing at her eyes.

“So what _did_ you and Tobin end up talking about?” JJ nudges Alex’s knee.

“We talked about how you and Pinoe seemed to be hitting it off,” Alex says, changing the subject as deftly as she can manage. “We wondered if Zach is going to be a lonely man soon.”

Predictably, JJ takes the bait and launches into a defensive rant about purely aesthetic and platonic admiration. Relieved, Alex tilts her head back, leaning against the junction where the door meets the seat, and half-listens to JJ’s explanations. She lets the hum of the car engine and JJ’s continuous chatter lull her closer to sleep and closes her eyes, the bright lights of the show still fresh in her memory.

 

///

 

 **musicjunky88** **  
** Today at 2:48 PM

_Oh hey I’m getting the hang of this DM thing :-)_

_Lol congrats on joining the 21st century_ _  
_ _How’s the tour?_

_Tiring, I feel like I’m perpetually jetlagged_

_Aren’t you still on the west coast?_

_Keeping tabs on me?_

_Nope. Julie is though_  
_You guys might need a restraining order_  
_soon_

 _Nah she’s a great wingwoman ;-)_  
_Anyway, I may have promised my cousin_  
_that I was going to ask you to record a_ _  
shoutout for her at the meet n greet…_

 _All I’m hearing is that you’re not a person_ _  
_ _who keeps her promises…_

_I was a little distracted…_

_Fine. Just for your cousin because she’s cute._

_Are you saying I’m not cute?_

_I’m not answering that_ _  
_ _What’s her name?_

 _Sarah_ _  
_ _And I’ll take that as a yes :-)_

_Yes you’re not cute?_

You sent a video • Delivered

 _Wait it said it expired what does that_ _  
_ _mean_

 _...Nvm_ _  
_ _I’ll record another one when I see you_

_So there will be a date is what I’m reading_

_Alex?_

 

///

 

As Flannel Gaze makes their way across the country, Alex finds herself back home after a short stint in Portland. It’s disappointing—to say the least—to find herself sidelined (again) due to a back injury from one of her first practices back with the Thorns. Her last recovery had been during the offseason, loaded with physical therapy sessions and fitness evaluations and living vicariously through Syd’s Snapchat stories from Costa Rica. This one finds her utilizing U.S. Soccer’s rehabilitation facilities once again while the NWSL season resumes. While it’s nice being able to spend time at the beach once or twice a week, occasionally with her sisters or childhood friends she doesn’t see often, it’s also frustrating. Not least because it leaves her feeling a bit antsy and inactive and way too contemplative, especially with all the solitary time.

A little over a month after the Flannel Gaze concert, Alex catches wind that her former teammate Abby has returned to town for a few days. Given Alex’s relatively relaxed week, she reaches out to Abby and schedules lunch with her at a cafe in Santa Monica.

Alex arrives five minutes early, as she’s accustomed to doing, and waits around ten minutes for Abby to arrive, as she’s also accustomed to doing. When Abby does show up, she’s in a horrible red and white Hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts, and flip flops, looking like a middle-aged dad on vacation. Abby also wastes no time in rushing over and picking Alex up in a big embrace.

“Welcome back, Abby,” Alex says, winded and a little crushed in Abby’s hello hug. “How was your honeymoon?”

“It was good,” Abby says as she releases Alex. “Too short but good. Alaska is cold this time of the year! Luckily, my wife’s a better packer than I am.”

“I had no idea you were even seeing someone new,” Alex says, sitting down and unfolding the menu. “Reading about how you two eloped on Google News really made me realize we haven’t talked much since you retired.”

“Aw, Baby Horse, did you miss lil’ ole me?” Abby teases with a wide grin.

“Maybe a little.”

“Let’s catch up more often in the future then.”

“Promise?” Alex asks, one eyebrow raised.

“Cross my heart,” Abby says with the matching gesture. “Anyway, you don’t want to hear about mushy honeymoon stuff, tell me about your life. Tell me everything, spare nothing.”

A wave of nostalgia washes over Alex, and they’re teammates again, the rookie and the veteran; the rising star and the legend; thirteen and twenty. They’re pulling pranks on Mittsy and stealing keys to one of the team vans and having dance-offs in the locker room and ‘chin up, Baby Horse, we’ve got a game to win. You’re a few hours from becoming an Olympic gold medalist, and no dumb boy is gonna get in the way of that’.

Abby’s pep talks were over-the-top, cheesy, and cliche, and damn it, Alex misses them so much. The weight of Abby’s concern and care always reassured Alex that she was in a safe space. That reminder makes Alex surprisingly emotional, but she’s kept from answering when an enthusiastic server approaches their table with two glasses of water.

Alex orders a soup-and-sandwich combo—cream of mushroom and caprese—and watches amusedly as Abby oohs and ahhs over the narration of the week’s specials for a good three minutes just to end up ordering the same thing.

Server gone and food on the way, Abby turns back to Alex expectantly. “Anyway, you never said. What’s new? Break any records? Any hearts?”

Alex rolls her eyes, albeit affectionately. “You truly overestimate me. I’ve been boring.”

“Whaaaat? That can’t be true. Your Twitter mentions tell me otherwise. How many marriage proposals is it now? One million and two?”

Alex scoffs. “You know none of that is real. We can’t all be marrying glamorous bloggers and riding happily off into the sunset, you know.”

“Yeah, sure.” Abby laughs. “I’ll ask Glennon if she has any single friends.”

“ _Stop_.” She joins in with Abby but quickly shakes her head because she knows by now to shut it down before Abby runs away with an idea. “You’re a terrible matchmaker.”

“I’m an _excellent_ matchmaker.” At Alex’s knowing and dubious expression, she seems to relent. Then, “Okay, I’m terrible at it. It’s not my fault single straight men are so boring to hang out with. They’re just so… bland. And…”

 _Single straight men_. Three words and that tiny prickle of anxiety is back. It’s not Abby’s fault, of course, that she thinks they’re the only option. Alex isn’t sure why she never confided in Abby about this—maybe because Abby has always seemed larger than life, so sure of who she was in a way that was intimidating. Then again, playing next to a soccer legend had been just as scary. Not for the first time, Alex wishes she could take some of that bravery with her beyond the field.

‘Everyone has to start with their first cap,’ Abby had said, all those years ago. Their dynamic has shifted since they first played together, but Alex still finds herself wanting guidance. And who else can she talk to about this kind of conflict?

“...Anyway, that’s where Glennon comes in.”

Alex shakes her head, realizing she’d tuned out most of that monologue. She opens her mouth, and closes it again.

“Alex?”

“I got asked out,” she blurts out. Abby raises an eyebrow, unsurprised by the mild outburst. She waits a beat, and predictably, Alex plows on. “I don’t know, part of me is being rational and telling me that I shouldn’t go through with it.”

“Why shouldn’t you?” Abby asks, brow furrowing.

On second nature, Alex checks the surrounding tables. With a lowered voice, she says, “She’s—” Abby eyes go wide “—kind of a visible member of the gay community.”

A pause, and Alex is apprehensive, already waiting for the inevitable question—

“You landed a famous gay while I was away?” Abby hisses and reaches out to grab Alex’s free hand excitedly. “Is it Jodie Foster?”

Alex is immediately grateful that Abby has glossed over any potential ‘wait you’re gay?’ or ‘why didn’t you tell me?’ conversation, intuitive enough to pick up on her discomfort.

“Oh my god, you’re so old,” Alex marvels, and Abby gasps exaggeratedly, hands clutching at her chest in mock offense. It’s not the best response she could’ve given there, but before Alex can convey her gratitude in some tangible way, Abby changes the subject as she checks her phone and sees a text from Glennon. It seems that maybe Abby does want to gush about her honeymoon after all. About fifteen minutes into Abby’s description of the upscale lodge she stayed at, their waiter returns with their food-laden plates in his arms.

“Thanks, Todd,” Abby says, craning her neck to peek at his nametag as he sets their orders down in front of them. “Looks great.”

“If you need anything, just let me know,” he says, smiling politely before leaving.

Abby rips open a packet of saltine crackers, turning her focus back to Alex. “What were we talking about again?”

“How ridiculously happy and in love you are,” Alex says.

“That too.” Then dramatically, Abby slaps the table top and says, “You never told me who your mysterious suitor is.”

“No one says suitor seriously anymore,” Alex says, shaking her head.

“Listen, even if it isn’t Jodie, I still support this one hundred percent,” Abby says, steamrolling on, and Alex finds herself rolling her eyes again. If she’s honest, half of her interactions with Abby involve some form of exasperation. “And more seriously, like genuinely, Alex… I mean this in the nicest way possible, but… fuck your rational side.”

Alex is surprised into a sharp exhale of a laugh.

“Fuck it. Because one day you’ll wake up and realize that while you were busy overthinking things, you turned into someone else, because you were too afraid to be yourself,” Abby says. “Neither of us is a stranger to risk or scrutiny. Believe me, I know what kind of pressure you’re under. But don’t let that stuff stop you from taking chances off the field.”

“I know you’re right,” Alex says softly. “I know you’re living proof of it, but I don’t think I’m there yet.”

“And that’s completely fine! You’re allowed to take as much time as you need to figure things out. It doesn’t have to be something that other people know. You don’t owe anyone that kind of information.”

“I know.”

“And besides,” Abby says, “it’s a first date. You’re not U-Hauling…yet. That’s date number three.” She even has the audacity to wink.

“So, basically: get over myself, right?”

“Yup.”

“You know what,” Alex says, “that’s actually okay advice.”

Abby dares to wink again.

(After they’ve finished their food and paid for it, Abby finally can’t resist saying, “Let me know whatever you figure out, yeah? I like to keep tabs on all my baby gays.” Then, Abby gathers Alex in another bone bruising bear hug. “And Alex, welcome to the family. I’ve never been happier to have my gaydar be wrong.”)

 

* * *

 

Quenchers Saloon is definitely the most low profile stop on the tour, despite the big city location of Chicago. It’s not the smallest venue Flannel Gaze has ever played, but it’s definitely leaning  back into their indie roots. The bar itself is pretty roomy with black barstools and little round wooden tables littered around spaciously. The bartop is long, extending far enough that it stretches nearly half the room, and Tobin takes a pregaming shot or two at it with Pinoe in ritual. Past a loose black curtain is the performance area—a wide, cleared floor for the audience, a dozen or so matching barstools around the perimeter of the room, and a small raised stage for the band to play on.

A couple of hours before they’re set to go on, Tobin lounges around backstage with Kelley and some non-band friends. The hubbub from the other half of the establishment is muted, nothing close to what it’ll be like once the show is near starting. Tobin is mid-convo with Brianna, Kelley’s pro surfer friend (and long-time crush—though Kelley’s not quite at the point of admitting it just yet), talking about something kind of inane when Lauren walks in.

“—some days I think you had the right idea, Ames, retiring from this shitty industry and just staying at home with the kids.”

“You got us kids,” Kelley says cheekily and loud enough for both Lauren and Amy, over the phone, to hear.

“Right,” Lauren says, voice flat. “I should’ve said that she left me with the less well-behaved children.”

Tobin and Kelley laugh good-naturedly at that.

“Amy wants me to tell you guys to be good and that she still loves you despite the separation,” Lauren says.

“Love you ARod!” They shout in unison.

Sighing, Lauren slaps the setlist and some other miscellaneous papers down on a nearby stand. She leaves as briskly as she entered, rattling off numerous grievances regarding the band members to Amy. To no one’s surprise, _Kelley_ is muttered various times.

“Gimme a sec,” Tobin says to Brianna. “I’m gonna text ARod real quick.”

As Tobin walks across the room to where her phone is plugged into the wall outlet, Brianna strikes up conversation up with Kelley who is doing her best to look casual. But the way she angles herself toward Brianna, the way she laughs a little too loud, the way she’s trying to be funny… well, Tobin just shakes her head. Tobin picks up her phone, a Twitter notification catching her attention.

> **Julie Ertz @** julieertz • 3m  
>  . _@musicjunky88 how dare #LGBTour be in Chicago when @chicagoredstars is playing away? I’m lodging a formal complaint against you._

The tweet elicits a laugh from Tobin. Midway through Tobin’s typed response to Julie, Kelley asks, “What did Amy say?”

“Nothing yet,” Tobin says, absently as she tries to multitask.

“Oh, did that soccer player message you?” Kelley gives a shit-eating grin and cups her hand around her mouth, shouting, “That’s gay!”

“Nah,” Tobin says. “But her friend tweeted at me.”

“Boring. You got that date lined up with her yet? It’s been months,” Kelley says. It’s really only been a few weeks. Not that Tobin’s keeping track.

“What’s this? Someone ghosted Tobin Heath?” Brianna teases.

Tobin rubs her chin sheepishly and says, “Dunno, it’s never happened to me before.”

“Modesty really suits you,” Brianna says, nodding along mockingly.

“Well, we’ve been messaging each other on and off.” Tobin manages an air of nonchalance, like the situation is exactly how she wants it to be.

“It’s been more off than on, to be honest,”  Kelley says, and Tobin’s caught off guard by a wave of unexpected defensiveness. Brianna and Kelley are only joking, of course, but Tobin would be lying if she said she wasn’t a little disappointed by Alex’s elusive and evasive behavior thus far. There’s no doubt in her mind that Alex is super busy, but Tobin’s feeling disproportionately invested in someone she barely knows.

Maybe it’s because Sarah had mostly-jokingly (but still scarily serious for a thirteen year old) warned Tobin that she ‘better not mess it up with Alex freaking Morgan’. Maybe it’s because Tobin’s picking up a hint of uneasiness, and she can’t tell if it’s from her or Alex (or even both of them). And maybe Tobin’s pride is a little hurt at the thought of not being good enough.

“She likes all my posts,” Tobin protests, aware that it’s a weak defense.

“Wow, that’s like, second base for you, right?” Kelley cracks, looking far too pleased with herself as Brianna leans into her, shaking with laughter.

“Shut up,” Tobin says, a slight whine sneaking in. Eyeing them pointedly, she continues, “You’re both single and not doing anything about it.”

“Aw Tobs, lighten up,” Brianna says, reaching one hand out to reassure Tobin. Kelley catches onto Tobin’s implication and the tips of her ears tinge pink as she sends a glare Tobin’s way. “Besides, superstar or not, she’s an idiot if she doesn’t wanna go out with you. You’re a catch.”

“Thank you,” Tobin says, slapping Brianna’s outstretched hand. “Good to know someone here loves me.”

“Yeah, yeah, what Bri said,” Kelley says. “I hope she gets back to you before cranky Toby comes out.”

Tobin doesn’t respond, attention already shifted back to her phone screen. She composes a quick text to tell ARod she misses her, just like she said she would… and then she’s back on her Instagram DM, eyeing the last message from twelve days ago and wondering if she should attempt to start another conversation.

But then the lights dim, as if making the decision for her, and the crowd cheers as the opening act takes the stage. As their lead guitarist strums the introductory chords of their first song, everyone backstage who isn’t a crewmember quiets down, respectfully turning their attention towards the unseen stage behind the curtain.

Tobin hits the power button, locking her screen, and slips it into her back pocket.

Maybe some other day.

 

* * *

 

Some two thousand miles away, Alex cleans out her closet, tossing her less worn items into a small pile on her bed. She’s not usually one to declutter when stressed, but in this moment it’s oddly relaxing. A rolled up jersey falls out as she empties one of her purses, plopping down to the carpet. Alex bends to pick it up, fingers running over her own name and number on the back, remembering the woman (and her strangely endearing smile) she’d meant to give it to.

In all other facets of her life, Alex has always known exactly what she wants, and that clarity allowed her to pursue her goals relentlessly. Her determination and stubbornness have taken her far professionally but have also forced her to sacrifice other aspects of herself. Now, maybe she’s finally ready to be more than just one thing.

After Alex’s string of injuries, she’d initially been gun-shy upon returning, flinching away from aggressive defenders. It feels like that now, especially with let-down after let-down in her relationships—most of which were her fault, she knows. Her teammates had helped with her hesitance on the field, and—recalling Abby’s words from earlier in the week—her friends will be there for her for this too.

So, this might be a huge mistake, allowing herself a vulnerability, and she’s fairly sure that this will only lead to more regrets. But giving in to fear and missing out on rare opportunities—no, that’s unacceptable. It isn’t the kind of person that Alex wants to be.

Alex’s hand curls around the jersey as she sits at the edge of her bed, and she pulls out her phone with her other hand. She sends off a short message and waits.

 

* * *

 

Somewhere between Chicago and Detroit, the Flannel Gaze tour bus hits a stretch of uneven road on the freeway, and Tobin jerks awake. She strains her ears for activity, listening for clues to tell her how long she’d been asleep. Lauren is still puttering about in the kitchenette area, and Becky is probably still seated cross legged on the couch nearby, finishing a New York Times crossword puzzle with ease, ear plugs muting Pinoe’s snores from two bunks away.

Knowing she has at least a few more hours before Lauren comes knocking, she shifts in her bed, trying to find a more comfortable sleeping position but eventually gives up. Sighing, she sits up and grabs her phone, scrolling through the notifications on her lockscreen—a voicemail from her mom that she makes a mental note to listen to later, texts from Perry and ARod, some notifications from Bleacher Report, and…

Tobin swings her legs off the bunk, a smile creeping on her face as she clicks on the notification, thumbing the home button to unlock the screen and type out a response.

She’ll deny it later but for a good hour after, she’s still smiling.

 

///

 

 **alexmorgan13** **  
** Today at 10:54 PM

_So about that date…_

_:-)_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who read this far! Please leave a comment if you'd like.
> 
> Tune in for chapter 2 on August 9th, 2019.
> 
> (Just kidding.)
> 
> (Hopefully.)


End file.
